The Outcast and the Mermaid
by Im-On-A-Roll
Summary: AU story. Set during the late 19th/early 20th century. Ronaldo Fisherman never quite fit in. His love of fantasy and anything unusual goes unappreciated in both his small village and his own family. But soon he discovers, with the help of someone special, that the strange world he believes in is more real than even he ever imagined.
1. Chapter 1

Ronaldo Fisherman, a heavyset teenage boy with curly blonde hair and spectacles, lived with his father and younger brother Peedee in a small oceanside town called Shore Village. His father, Mr. Fisherman, owned a fishing business. The small family spent most of their days fishing in Mr. Fisherman's rowboat, using everything from cast nets to harpoons. Once they hauled in their catch, it went to the village fish market. Thus everyone in Shore Village was provided with fresh fish.

It was a great life for Mr. Fisherman and Peedee. But not for Ronaldo. The mundane everyday life that his family and the rest of the village led bored him. He had little to no interest in the family business. His interests were literally not of this world. Ronaldo had an unlimited fascination with anything bizarre and unusual. As a young boy, he'd spent hours upon hours in the library, the only place in his dull village that satisfied his desire for fantasy. He'd read countless books on every mystical creature imaginable. His eccentric attitude and beliefs did not endear him to his fellow villagers, however. Most people in the village thought how odd it was that such a practical, sensible man as the fisherman could have such an oddity for a son. Ronaldo knew they felt this way but tried not to care. If anything, he considered the word "oddity" to be a compliment. It did not matter to him if others did not understand his beliefs because he knew, of course, that he was right.

Early one morning, Ronaldo was alone in his bedroom, which in of itself gave one the impression of being in a completely different world. The bed was no made. Unusually colored clothes had been thrown carelessly all over the floor. Every inch of the walls was covered with drawings and illustrations, either torn from books or drawn by Ronaldo himself. They featured some of the most bizarre creatures imaginable; centaurs, werewolves, dragons of every shape and size, and of course, Ronaldo's most recent unusual interest, merpeople.

"To think," he often thought out loud on the topic of these creatures. "There could be an entire species of human-fish hybrids out there and I don't even have to leave my backyard to find them."

And he was intent on doing this, today if possible. He sat at his writing desk, which was cluttered with half a dozen books, art supplies, a map of the area, and his writing journal.

"Okay," he said in a business-like voice. "Here's where I am now." He drew an X on the indicated spot on his map. "Here's the spot where Dad said we'd be casting our nets," he added, drawing another X on a spot in the ocean some two miles offshore.

"Ronaldo!" called his father's voice from downstairs. "Peedee and I are gonna start loading the boat! Do me a favor and grab the harpoon when you come down!"

"Got it!" Ronaldo called back. "Now let's see," he said, still studying the map. "We won't be too far out at sea, but there's plenty of rocks along the shore. If real mermaids are anything like the ones in the books, they probably spend most of their free time lounging on rocks. In which case, I'd say there's no reason I shouldn't see one today," he concluded.

He hurriedly threw his pen, journal, and map into his satchel, swung it over his shoulder, and was out the door in seconds. He ran downstairs, burst through the front door, and ran over to the small dock that contained his father's rowboat.

Mr. Fisherman was already there waiting for him. He was also heavyset, though more so in the chest and shoulders than than around the middle like Ronaldo. He too had blonde hair, though not as curly, and a very slight beard. He was a stern, gruff man and stubborn to boot. For this reason, he and Ronaldo did not usually see eye to eye. If truth be told, Mr. Fisherman did little more than tolerate his oldest son's beliefs and antics. Although Ronaldo took no offense to the rest of the village's view of him, deep down he often wished his father would be a bit more supportive. Mr. Fisherman, likewise, wished Ronaldo would be more supportive of him and concentrate more on his work than his hobby.

And, of course, perched up on their father's shoulders was Peedee, Ronaldo's little brother. Peedee, like his father and brother, had blonde hair, but that was where the resemblance ended. He was a small, skinny preteen with large, sad eyes and a conspicuous hole in his mouth where his front tooth should have been. Peedee was oddly stern and cynical for his age and, unlike his brother, was eternally loyal to both their father and the family business. This perhaps was what made him their father's "undeclared favorite", in Ronaldo's words.

"I'm here!" Ronaldo announced proudly.

Somehow, his father didn't look pleased with this. "Aren't you forgetting something?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Ronaldo looked down at his satchel, which he remembered packing with everything he thought he'd need, and shrugged.

"The _harpoons_?" Mr. Fisherman said, rolling his eyes.

"Oh. Right. Be right back!"

He turned on his heel and darted back into the house. Seconds later, his arms weight down with long, dangerously sharp fishing tools, he came hurrying back to the dock.

"Got the harpoons!"

"Hey! Hey! Be careful!" Mr. Fisherman snapped as Ronaldo came to a screeching stop. "How many times do I gotta tell you not to run with those?"

"Sorry, Dad," said Ronaldo, barely listening. "I'm just _really_ excited to get out on the waves today," he added, a little too optimistically.

"That's a first," said Mr. Fisherman skeptically as Ronaldo loaded the harpoons into the boat.

"I'll bet this is about merpeople," said Peedee quietly.

His father sighed. "Typical. As soon as he's over unicorns, he starts up with some other crazy thing."

"Actually it was centaurs last time," Peedee corrected him.

"Honestly, I lost track years ago," said Mr. Fisherman drearily. "Alright, let's get this show on the road," he announced to both his sons.

"Road. Waves. Whatever," said Ronaldo facetiously.

In a matter of minutes, the boat was loaded, everyone was aboard, and Mr. Fisherman began paddling. Ronaldo kept his eyes peeled as they passed the rocks along the shore. Every book on merpeople he'd ever read had at least one illustration of a mermaid sitting gracefully on a rock. Assuming his father's paddling wouldn't scare them away, he was likely to get at least a glimpse of one in this area. And when that happened, he was going to be ready.

But alas, every rock they passed was completely mermaid-free. Ronaldo did not abandon hope though. The day was still young. There was time yet. He kept his pen and journal at the ready until they reached their intended fishing spot.

"Okay, boys," he vaguely heard his father say. "Ronaldo?" he added, rather impatiently.

"One sec," said Ronaldo, peering out over the port side of the boat.

"_Now_," said Peedee sternly, shutting Ronaldo's journal.

Ronaldo groaned and reluctantly turned his attention away from the sea.

"Alright," their father said. "Now, if I'm right, there's an entire school of salmon directly beneath us..."

While Peedee hung on every word, Ronaldo could hardly concentrate. His mind, which was never where his father felt it should be, was still on mermaids and the possibility of seeing one. So during the entire minute or so that Mr. Fisherman spoke, Ronaldo only pretended to listen. When he was sure his father was more focused on Peedee than on him, Ronaldo would turn his attention back to the water in hopes of catching a glimpse of something unusual. And when his father did address him, he would force himself back to earth and act as though he had heard every word, even though he hadn't.

"Alright boys, let's make this the best catch Fisherman Bros. has ever seen," said Mr. Fisherman, anxiously clapping his hands together.

Peedee leaped to his feet and hurried forward to help his father with the cast net. This, Ronaldo decided, was a two-man job. So, pen and journal in hand, he scooted himself over to the port side of the boat, watched, and waited.

For a few minutes, there was nothing to be seen save water and sky. Then several yards away, he saw something break the surface. He barely had time to squint his eyes for a better view of it when it was gone. Although it had only been there a second, Ronaldo had the feeling it looked like a fishtail slapping the surface. He looked back to check with his father and brother to see if they'd seen it too, but the sight of them throwing out the cast net on the other side of the boat assured him that they had not. Unconcerned, he looked to see if he could find whatever it was again. And a second later, it was there again. Then it disappeared as quickly as it had before. But Ronaldo had gotten a good look at it this time. It was indeed a fish tail. But he could tell this was no mere fish. No fish he'd ever seen had a tail that size, or that color (a vivid bluish green).

"Haha! Yes!" came his father's voice. Evidently he and Peedee had made a catch, and a big one from the sound of his voice. "Ronaldo, get over here!"

Ronaldo heard him, but did not oblige. Every part of him trembling, he dropped his pen and journal to the floor, took a deep breath, and dunked his entire head below the water. For a moment all he saw was blueness. Then suddenly there was movement ahead of him. And then... Ronaldo nearly fell out of the boat. A shadowy figure was swimming slowly in his direction from about fifty feet away. Heart racing, Ronaldo stared and stared at it as it came nearer. Then, when it was around thirty feet in front of him, he saw what was unmistakably the pale face and flowing brown hair of a girl.

Out of nowhere, a pair of large hands grabbed him roughly by the shoulders, nearly choking him, and hauled him back into the boat.

"RONALDO! GET UP HERE! WHAT IN THE WORLD ARE YOU DOING!?" his father asked angrily.

"DAD!"

Peedee, now attending to the net full of fish on his own, was being dragged helplessly overboard by the weight of the catch.

"PEEDEE!" called Mr. Fisherman.

He lunged forward and dove into the water after Peedee.

But rather than help. If he was right, he had just laid eyes on a mermaid. And if this was true, everything else in the world could wait.

Ronaldo dunked his head beneath the water again and came nearly nose to nose with the very same girl. No. Not girl. There was no questioning it. This was undeniably a mermaid! And a very pretty one at that.

Ronaldo stared, unable to breathe (and not just because his entire head was underwater). The mermaid smiled, almost shyly, at him and then swam past him. He couldn't help but notice how, not only amazingly unusual, but beautiful her long sea green tail looked in this light. The sun's rays beating down past the water's surface gave her scales a sort of iridescent quality.

He watched her swim forward to the other side of the boat and towards the net full of salmon. She approached the net slowly so as not to get caught herself. She then produced a sharp tool of sorts (either a sharp rock or a shark's tooth, Ronaldo could not tell) and used it to cut a large gash in the net. Not even a second later, the salmon burst from the net and swam off for freedom. Ronaldo could've sworn he'd heard some of them cheering as they sped past him. Then his eyes fell upon the mermaid again. She gave him the same bashful smile as before, and then swam off. Ronaldo watched her for a moment, wanting to memorize every detail about her.

The same firm hands that had grabbed him a minute before clasped him on the shoulders again and a second later, Ronaldo was face to face with his dripping wet father.

If looks could kill.

"You've got some serious explaining to do," he said in a dangerously low voice.

_End of Chapter_


	2. Chapter 2

"Salmon... Salmon everywhere..." Peedee moaned, almost comically.

The poor lad was in absolute shock after bing nearly drowned by the school of salmon. This combined with the gash that the mermaid had cut in the cast net was why Mr. Fisherman had decided to call it a day several hours early. Thus, the family was now rowing back to shore without having caught a single thing. And the worst part was that Mr. Fisherman held Ronaldo entirely responsible.

Ronaldo, of course, was in far too good a mood to care or even notice. He had seen a real mermaid with his own eyes. And she was far more beautiful than he had ever imagined a mermaid could be. Nothing could ruin this day for him.

As soon as the boat was docked, Mr. Fisherman marched his sons inside, torn between being gentle with Peedee and rough with Ronaldo.

"Wait for me in your room," he said to Ronaldo once they were upstairs. He then marched off to put Peedee to bed.

Even knowing he was in for a very firm talking to, Ronaldo was still beaming. He went to his room, eager to be alone with his thoughts. At first he thought to draw a sketch of her in his journal, but quickly decided against it. A creature that beautiful deserved to be drawn properly, on a clean, proper sized sheet of paper and painted with all the right colors to enhance her beauty. He ran over to his desk, withdrew paper, paint, and brushes, and, forcing his trembling hand to steady, began work on his masterpiece.

Ronaldo had every detail of the mermaid memorized and was intent on making her appear on paper exactly as he had seen her in life. He was so very deep in thought that the sudden sound of the door being thrust open almost made the hand holding his brush jerk. Thankfully it hadn't and his painting was spared, but it did not stop him being unhappy.

"Alright, Ronaldo Fisherman," said his father's angry voice from behind him. "I want an explanation and I want it now."

"Well for starters, I'd appreciate it if you'd knock in future," said Ronaldo, who was on a completely different subject than the one his father was on. "As you can see, I'm in the middle of something very important and I'd rather not be interrupted," he added, showing his father the half-finished painting of the mermaid.

Mr. Fisherman stared blankly at the picture and then at his son.

"I know. It's pretty good, huh? Just wait until it's finished," said Ronaldo, misinterpreting his father's stunned look.

"Don't you have any shame?" Mr. Fisherman asked, suddenly angry again. "You ruin our entire day before the clock strikes noon and then you come back here and doodle? What's the matter with you?"

"I'm not doodling, Dad," Ronaldo explained. "I am recreating the beautiful image I saw this morning. And if you don't mind, I'd like to get it done while the image is still fresh in my mind," he added, indicating that he wanted to be alone.

Mr. Fisherman stared at his eldest son looking dumbfounded.

"Dad? Did you hear me?" Ronaldo asked. "I said I've got work to do..."

"I heard you!" his father snapped. "I wish I hadn't though. First of all, _I'm_ in charge in this house and no conversation's over until I say it is. And second, what the heck do you mean by, 'beautiful image'?"

"The mermaid, of course," said Ronaldo, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Excuse me?" he finally said.

Ronaldo looked at his father as though he thought _he_ was the crazy one. "The _mermaid_, Dad. The one that rescued all those salmon from our net. You know. She had long brown hair that flowed every which way, eyes that shone so brightly they put stars to shame, and the most gorgeous tail..."

Before Ronaldo's description of the mermaid could become too rich in detail, Mr. Fisherman cut him off.

"Okay, let me see if I understand you. You saw... a _mermaid_?" he said slowly, not sounding even slightly convinced.

"Come on. You were there. You were in the water. You can't tell me you didn't see her too," said Ronaldo, starting to get upset that his father was being so slow to grasp all of this.

"I didn't have time to see anything. I was too busy trying to save your brother from drowning," his father retorted. "And that's another thing. When I tell you to help us with _anything_, you help. Do you realize that Peedee almost drowned because you were slacking off and acting careless?"

"How is that exclusively my fault? You could've helped too, you know," said Ronoldo defiantly.

Ronaldo would not have been surprised to see sparks fly from his father's eyes.

"Don't you turn this around on me!" Mr. Fisherman bellowed. "I had to step away from him to stop you from lollygagging! So because of you, we have no catch, our cast net's ruined, and your bother's lying in bed with... post-traumatic salmon disorder! Does any of that mean anything to you?"

"Dad, the net wasn't my fault," said Ronaldo impatiently. "I told you, it was the mermaid. She cut the fish free with some kind of rock..."

"Enough of this mermaid talk!" roared Mr. Fisherman.

"She was there, Dad. I saw her with my own eyes," Ronaldo insisted.

Mr. Fisherman held up a hand to silence him. "Ronaldo. Just stop," he said through gritted teeth.

Seeing that he was getting nowhere with his father, Ronaldo finally and reluctantly obliged. For a moment that contained an eternity, neither of them spoke. Then Mr. Fisherman broke the ugly silence.

"Now let's just get one thing straight," Mr. Fisherman said, pointing a quivering finger at his son. "I'm not gonna stand for this any longer. You're always daydreaming and fantasizing and it's distracting you from your work and your family. Well it ends now. It's time you got your head out of the clouds and started acting your age. And if not, I'm bringing the hammer down. Understand?"

"Yes, okay?" said Ronaldo exasperatedly.

It was as good as, if not worse than, a no. His father glared at him, clearly not happy with his tone.

Ronaldo cleared his throat and said in the most polite voice he could muster, "Yes, Sir."

"Alright then," said Mr. Fisherman, nodding his approval. "And to make sure you have time to think about what you did, I want you on dry land. Starting now and ending when I say, you'll be doing chores and running errands instead of fishing with me and your brother."

Ronaldo's immediate thought was that that didn't sound like a punishment at all. On the contrary, he would've much preferred spending the days by himself than being stuck in a boat with his father yelling at him all day. He was just about to say this when the realization of what this meant hit him like a ton of bricks.

"But wait," he said. "If I can't go fishing then that means I won't be able to see the..."

His father shot him a look that said, "Say the 'm' word. I dare you." Ronaldo fell silent at once.

"You heard what I said. I don't want you in or near that boat until further notice," Mr. Fisherman said sternly. "Doing chores around here will teach you not to shirk. Besides, there's no way I'm trusting you with my fishing gear after today."

"Fine," said Ronaldo bitterly.

"Good. I'll leave you a list of chores first thing in the morning," said Mr. Fisherman, turning to leave the room. "_Now_ the conversation's over," he added. And he walked off, shutting the door behind him.

Now alone, Ronaldo let out a snarl. It was not fair. He had actually seen a real life mermaid today and now he was being ordered never to see her again by a man who did not even believe in such things. Ronaldo banged his fist against his desktop in frustration. Why was his father so stubborn? Why did he have to ruin everything for everyone else? Why was he so very stuck in his own ways and unwilling to welcome new ideas? Ronaldo thought (ironically) that it was good that these things skipped a generation.

Then he looked down at his unfinished mermaid painting and felt his spirits lift. If he couldn't see the mermaid himself, at least he would have this picture to remember her by. And so, unruffled by his father's reprimand, Ronaldo got right back to work. He picked up his brush and painted and painted, not sparing a single detail that he recalled.

It was nearly supper time by the time he'd finished. He sat there and admired his work. It was his best yet. He'd created almost an exact replica of the mermaid herself. Every physical feature had been drawn and colored to perfection, from the piercing blue of her eyes to the sea green of her tail. Ronaldo couldn't help but sit and gaze, mesmerized by her beauty.

"I just wish I knew your name," he said wistfully.


	3. Chapter 3

"Princess Katarina!"

The sudden voice of one of the castle stewards made the mermaid princess jump. She had spent the latter half of the afternoon alone in her bedroom, deep in thought about the events of that morning, and had not been prepared to hear a voice address her suddenly from the other side of the curtain.

"Er, yes?" she said, clutching a hand to her chest.

"Your father says dinner is ready," said the stewart.

"Right. Thank you," said Katarina with a sigh. "I'll be there soon."

"Don't dawdle, Your Highness."

Katarina scoffed as she heard the stewart swim away. "_Don't dawdle_," she said in a hushed voice, mimicking him. Then she swam over to her vanity, sat down, and began to try to make herself look presentable for dinner.

As she ran a brush through her long brown hair, she resumed her train of thought. Before she had been interrupted, she had been thinking about the young human she had seen that morning. The one in the fishing boat. The one whose attention she had caught and who had stared absentmindedly at her. It was the first time a human had ever seen her. And what a strange encounter it had been. There had been no real interaction between them except staring, mostly from him. But of course she had done her own share of staring. It had not been for very long, but it was enough for her to take him in. He was not, perhaps, very handsome. But there was something about him that intrigued her. It could just have been that he was a human, which in of itself fascinated her. Or perhaps it ran far deeper than that. Maybe it was the way he had looked at her. And his reaction. He had clearly seen that she was a mermaid, yet he had not responded to seeing her the way she had always been told humans would. He had not gone savage and tried to impale her with a spear. He'd simply stared in pure amazement.

But then there were those two other humans in his boat. The big, burly one and the much smaller, skinnier one (she supposed they were his father and brother) who had caught all those salmon in the net. As far as she could tell, they more closely fit the description of humans she had always heard. What then was it about the one who had seen her?

She suddenly realized that she had been mindlessly brushing the same spot on her hair for over a minute. She hurriedly threw on a pearl necklace and matching earrings, tied her hair back in a ribbon, and pushed her way through her bedroom curtain.

Down in the dining room, she found her parents, King Nereid and Queen Pandora, seated at the long table waiting for her. King Nereid was a large, muscular merman with a close cropped haircut and a neatly trimmed beard. He wore a gold leaf crown on his head and his powerful tail was vivd green. Queen Pandora was a fair, slender mermaid with an azure blue tail and wore her long hair in an elaborate bun bedecked with a gold headpiece. Both, like their daughter, had brown hair but whereas Katarina had inherited her mother's piercing blue eye, her father's eyes were a rich brown.

"You're two minutes late, Katarina," her father said.

"_My good old father,"_ Katarina thought irritably to herself. She loved her father very dearly, but sometimes she wished he was not so strict.

"Sorry, Father," she said, bowing slightly.

"Don't you remember me telling you we were having a guest this evening?" asked the king, gesturing to his right.

There sat Pike, the king's most trusted advisor. Katarina had forgotten he was joining them, which made the surprise of seeing him all the more unpleasant. Pike had served King Nereid for as long as Katarina could remember and she had never been particularly fond of him. He was tall, pale, and wiry with sleek, dark hair and goatee. He had gray eyes and his tail was a rich plum color. His appearance matched his personality: bland and dull. He was polite and highly intelligent, but he was such a stickler for the rules. This was what made him so unappealing to Katarina, who was a textbook free spirit. Two people like them could never see eye to eye.

"Princess," said Pike, smiling and bowing his head in greeting.

Katrina also bowed her head but did not smile, which her parents both noticed.

"Let's eat, shall we?" suggested Queen Pandora, catching the look on her husband's face.

Katarina took her place at the table and for a few minutes everyone ate in silence.

"So, my dear," the king said after several minutes. "How are your studies coming along?"

"Fine. Just fine," said Katarina. "I'm working very diligently."

"Good. Good," her father nodded. "History going well then? And mathematics? Literature? Art?"

"Yes, Father," Katarina said, trying not to sound bored.

"And _music_?"

Katarina nearly dropped her fork. She did not like the way her father lingered on the word music. It made her wonder if he suspected something.

"Music's going well," she said in a tone of forced calm. "And today's lesson was especially great," she added as an afterthought.

"Hm. What did you play?" the king asked.

"What?" asked Katarina, which was not easy as her throat suddenly felt very dry.

"Which instrument?" her father specified. "Was it, by chance, something in the _wind_ family? I imagine so as the wind is clearly all your instructor heard today," he added, his voice becoming increasingly hostile.

It took Katarina a moment to figure out what he meant. Then, realizing she was now cornered, she hung her head, dropped her fork to the table, and said, "What do you know?"

"Enough," was her father's answer. "Your instructor told us you missed your lesson this morning."

Katarina would've liked to slap a hand to her forehead. Of course that old blabbermouth told them. How on earth had that not occurred to her before?

"What do you have to say for yourself, young lady?" her mother asked.

"I'm sorry. I forgot," said Katarina, out of habit.

Both her parents groaned at this pathetic excuse for an excuse.

"It's the truth," Katarina insisted. "Anyway, it's just music. It's not like it's anything really important..."

"Every field of study is important! Especially to a young lady of your rank," said King Nereid angrily.

Katarina was bursting to say that music lessons as she knew them were of no importance to anyone, princess or not. She would have loved to defiantly tell her father how he would like spending an hour a day studying boring music by boring artists under the direction of the oldest, dullest instructor in all the seven seas. But before she had the chance to do so, the conversation was interrupted.

"I wouldn't be too hard on the girl, Your Majesties," Pike said suddenly.

Everyone looked at him.

"As it happens, I encountered two salmon today during my afternoon swim who claimed to have been part of a school that was nearly caught in a net this morning," Pike explained. "You know how fish talk, of course. You can barely get more than a few words out of them. But based on what little information they provided, I was able to conclude that they had been rescued by a certain mermaid princess who had cut their net and set them free."

"Is this true, my dear?" King Nereid asked, sounding less stern.

Katarina could barely believe her ears. In all the years she had known Pike, she'd never imagined he would ever get her off the hook with her parents.

After adjusting to the shock, she answered, "Yes. I know the humans usually come to fish in the morning and I thought I should be there in case any of our subjects needed saving."

Her parents stared.

Then King Nereid cleared his throat and answered, "Well that was certainly admirable."

"Indeed," agreed Queen Pandora. "Well done, Katarina."

"Thank you," said Katarina. Feeling an enormous pressure being lifted from her shoulders, she eagerly carried on with her meal.

"Of course," Pike continued, "the words 'human boy' and 'staring' were also mentioned."

At that moment, all of Katarina's relief was instantly replaced by anger, fear, and the same sense of betrayal she had always come to expect from Pike.

"Katarina?" said Queen Pandora, demanding confirmation for this claim.

"You allowed yourself to be seen by humans?" King Nereid asked, much more furious.

"I, er... Well..." Katarina stammered.

"Answer me, young lady," demanded her father, never one to beat about the bush.

"Alright, yes," admitted Katarina. "But it was just the one..."

"What difference does it make how many?" asked her father. "A human is a human and that's all there is to it. Suppose he'd been armed with a spear or a net."

"He wasn't armed with anything, Father," said Katarina, trying to sound patient. "Alright yes, the other two had a net. But this boy was... different," she added, her voice dying off somewhat on the last word.

"Different?" her father asked, unconvinced.

"Yes," said Katarina. Her voice had suddenly developed an airy, almost dreamy quality. "He didn't seem to want anything to do with catching fish. He seemed curious. About me. His eyes were on me the entire time and he looked at me like I was a ghost. But he never raised a hand to attack me."

"No human is good, Katarina!" the king snapped. "I'd have thought saving an entire school of salmon from one of their nets would be enough to tell you that."

"But Father, he didn't..."

"NO OBJECTIONS!"

The king's roaring vice made everyone else wince, even Pike. For several of the most uncomfortable seconds of Katarina's life, everything was silent.

Then her father sighed and massaged his temples. He gave her a warm, fatherly look and then spoke to her in a very level voice.

"Katarina my dear, please try to understand," he implored. "We care about you. We want to see you live a long, happy, healthy life. And we want you to be prepared for your future. One day you'll be Queen. And as such we expect you to recognize the dangers of the world so that you may be able to protect your subjects."

"Yes, Sir," said Katarina in a voice filled with venom.

"Katarina!" Queen Pandora hissed.

King Nereid looked as though he was going to resort to shouting again.

"Think nothing of it, Your Majesty," said Pike. "She's still young. Going through a phase, as we all did at her age. I'm sure in time she'll outgrow it and learn to appreciate all that you do for her."

Katarina gave Pike an icy glare. She then pushed away her plate, rose from her seat, and stormed out of the dining room.

"Katarina," she heard her mother say.

"Katarina!" her father barked. "Come back here!"

But of course she did not. She swam off back to her room, cursing her father and Pike under her breath as she went. They were both so stubborn. So inflexible. So unwilling to accept the idea that not all humans were bad. What did they know? What experience had they ever had with real humans? They didn't know the first thing about humans, that boy, or even her.


	4. Chapter 4

Mr. Fisherman was as bad as his word. The very next day, after he and Peedee had left for work (Peedee having recovered from his ordeal with the salmon), Ronaldo went downstairs and found his list of chores for the day. He read over it sulkily, but his mood brightened when he saw that one of his tasks was to go grocery shopping. This meant, not only that he could at least go outside today, but that he would have the chance to tell everyone in the village about his encounter with the mermaid.

He thus decided to make grocery shopping his first task. He ran back upstairs to his room and grabbed the painting of the mermaid that he had worked on for most of the previous day. If by chance the villagers did not believe his story at first, he could show the painting to them as proof. He then ran back downstairs and out the door. He returned a minute later when he remembered why he was being sent to town in the first place and realized he had forgotten his father's list and money for the groceries.

During the entire time he was in the village, Ronaldo told his story to everyone from the grocer to the butcher. Every time, he ended the story by showing off his painting as "proof". If truth be told however, the only thing anyone seemed genuinely fascinated by was the painting. They complemented Ronaldo's artistic abilities but, unbeknownst to him, no one quite had the heart to tell him that the story itself seemed like anything more than a dream he'd had.

It was nearly noon when Ronaldo stopped at his final destination: the fish market. The shop was run by a small bearded man called Yellowtail, a retired sailor with whom Ronaldo's father was good friends. When Yellowtail spoke, it was in an unintelligible gibberish sort of language. Most people had trouble understanding him but having grown up around him for most of his life, Ronaldo and the rest of the Fisherman family had no trouble translating his gibbers into proper English.

"Morning, Yellowtail," said Ronaldo. "Got any mackerel?"

Yellowtail went round to the back of the shop and returned moments later carrying what Ronaldo knew to be a fish wrapped in paper. He then said something in gibberish, but Ronaldo understood every word.

"Yeah, yeah. Sorry about yesterday's haul, or lack thereof," Ronaldo said. "But whatever my dad says, it was _not_ my fault, okay? The _mermaid_ distracted me." He had been careful to put plenty of emphasis on the word mermaid.

Yellowtail stared at him and then uttered two gibberish syllables.

"The _mermaid_, Yellowtail. The _mermaid_," said Ronaldo.

He then produced his mermaid painting from nowhere and began telling Yellowtail about his mermaid encounter.

* * *

By later afternoon, Ronaldo was resting in his bedroom. It had been a long, disappointing day. After trying, and failing, to convince Yellowtail about the mermaid, he had returned home to do the rest of his chores. He had done so, but he had hardly paid any attention to what he was doing. He was too busy thinking about how unconvinced Yellowtail had been. He'd have thought surely Yellowtail, being an old man of the sea, would appreciate a thrilling account of a meeting between a mystical sea creature and a human being. But according to him, twenty-three years of working at sea was enough to convince a person that mermaids were pure fantasy.

He was just about to doze off when he heard the front door open and shut. His father and Peedee were home.

"RONALDO FISHERMAN!" came his father's furious voice moments later. "YOU OPEN THIS DOOR!"

Ignoring the tone of his voice, Ronaldo leaped off the bed and opened the door to greet his father.

"Wow Dad, you remembered to knock this time..."

Mr. Fisherman pushed roughly past him and stomped to the very center of the room.

"Sit!" he snapped, pointing a trembling finger at Ronaldo's bed.

No longer smiling, Ronaldo did as his father said. For a few moments, neither spoke. Ronaldo looked up at his father, who was red in the face and breathing hard through his nostrils. He seemed to be trying very hard to calm himself down.

"Where do you get the nerve?" Mr. Fisherman snarled.

"Sorry?" asked Ronaldo, somewhat tentatively.

"Didn't I make it perfectly clear that I wanted this nonsense about mermaids and unicorns to end?"

Ronaldo raised an eyebrow. "What do you..."

"Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about!" Mr. Fisherman interrupted. "I specifically warned you to stop all this and then you go right behind my back and tell the _entire village_ that you saw a mermaid!"

"And?" Ronaldo shrugged, who could not find anything wrong with this. He'd only been conveying the truth after all.

"Yellowtail told me half the village wants me to put you in an asylum! Is that what you want!?" Mr. Fisherman asked, almost pleadingly. "Do you think I want to see you locked up in a padded room somewhere, tied up in a straightjacket?"

Ronaldo blinked.

"Why would they say that?" he said, more to himself than to his father. "What'd I say that was wrong? I told them everything that happened, exactly as I saw it. I couldn't have left anything out. I even showed them that as proof," he added, looking over at the mermaid painting on his desk. "Why didn't they believe me?"

Ronaldo was so deep in thought that he didn't notice his father looking at him with an unpleasant combination of anger and concern on his face.

"I've gotta see her again," he said suddenly, getting to his feet. "Yeah, that's it. I know where to find her. I'll seek her out the next time we go fishing. We can talk. And maybe I can convince her to come closer to shore. Close enough so that shell be in the entire village's line of vision. And then they'll all know..."

"RONALDO, STOP THIS!" Mr. Fisherman roared.

Ronaldo was so startled that he stopped thinking out loud and sat back down so suddenly that one would have thought an invisible hand had pushed him downwards.

"I mean it this time, Ronaldo!" snapped his father, who was now long past controlling his temper. "I am done with this! You hear me!? DONE! You keep up this nonsense any longer and the whole village is gonna think we're all loons! And you keep daydreaming when you should be working, we don't bring in fish, and soon we're out of work! Well it's not gonna happen!"

Mr. Fisherman walked over to Ronaldo's desk, knelt down, and picked up a waste basket that was on the floor. "I'm not gonna have any son of mine living in La La Land, or an asylum," he said, marching over to the nearest wall.

"Dad, no!" said Ronaldo in horror.

"It's for your own good, Ronaldo."

And with that, Mr. Fisherman began tearing down every picture in sight and stuffing them unceremoniously into the waste basket.

"Dad, stop!"

Ronaldo ran over to his father, grabbed his shoulders, and tried to make him stop. But Mr. Fisherman would not be stopped. He kept on stripping the walls of illustrations of mystical creatures, ignoring Ronaldo's objections completely. In a surprisingly short time, every inch of the walls was blank.

After the last picture had been removed from the wall, both Mr. Fisherman's and Ronaldo's eyes fell upon the mermaid painting on the desk. Ronaldo, horrified, made to block his father's path with his body. But Mr. Fisherman overpowered him. He pushed Ronaldo aside, then practically ran to the desk with his hand outstretched.

"DAD, NO!" Ronaldo yelled, nearly straining himself.

But it was too late. Ronaldo watched in horror as his father grabbed the painting, took it in both hands, and began tearing it into tiny pieces. Ronaldo let out a scream.

"Get out of my room," he said. "GET OUT!"

Ronaldo lunged forward and with a mighty heave he pushed his father to the floor.

"GET OUT OF HERE! I HATE YOU! JUST LEAVE ME ALONE! FOREVER!"

Ronaldo turned away and threw himself onto his bed. He then buried his tearstained face in his pillow and refused to face his father. Which was rather a pity. If he had faced his father, he would not have seen the ma he had just seen destroying his belongings. He would have seen a man sitting on the floor, looking startled at both what he'd just done and how his son had reacted.

Mr. Fisherman rose slowly to his feet and reached forward to put his hand on Ronaldo's shoulder.

"Ronaldo..."

"I SAID GET OUT!" shouted Ronaldo, his voice muffled through the pillow.

Mr. Fisherman hung his head in shame and silently left the room, closing the door behind him.

Ronaldo was all alone now. Alone in the world as far as he could tell. He felt as though his own heart had been torn to pieces along with the painting. His father really didn't understand him. _No one_ understood him. Not his family, not the people in the village. No one. He felt so alone, but not because of the dead silence of his otherwise empty bedroom. This wasn't where he belonged. Not this house, not this village, not this life. He had no friends. His family didn't seem to care about him at all. And he was not going to stick around and let this misery continue.


End file.
